


Slay Bells

by HostisHumaniGeneris



Category: Friday the 13th Series (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Murder, Serial Killers, Trick or Treat 2019, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-06 05:24:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21221303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HostisHumaniGeneris/pseuds/HostisHumaniGeneris
Summary: They needed a place to lay low for a while.  Jackie didn't like it, but Jake thought it was perfect--who the Hell would look for them in a summer camp in the middle of winter?  Especially one with a reputation like Camp Crystal Lake's?





	Slay Bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scioscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/gifts).

“This is fucking stupid.” Jackie said, having to take high steps to make her way through the deep snow. “We should be outta Jersey.”

“Nah, look, we just have to lay low for a little while.” Jake said, over his shoulder. “I figure, cops probably have eyes on the turnpike. Cops and Ramon. Gonna spend a little while in the wilderness, and wait for someone else to take the blame.”

“You actually think that’s gonna work?” Jackie asked, adjusting the straps on her pack. “What if someone looks here?”

“Camp Blood?” Jake asked with a laugh. He didn’t show any sign of trouble, despite being loaded down a lot more than she was. He preferred being the one to carry most of the money. “Nobody comes out here anymore… and it was a _summer _camp.”

“Don’t people own houses around here?” Jackie asked.

“Nah, most of the closest ones have been abandoned. Got plenty of privacy.” He reached a low fence, really a chain between two low poles, practically buried in snow. “C’mon, you’re not scared of him are you?”

She scowled. “No.”

She wasn’t going to let Jake think this stupid urban legend was getting to her. Jason Voorhees died decades ago. There was nothing to be afraid of.

She told herself that as she trudged after Jake, only half listening to him babble. It wasn’t _that _cold he said, he was surprised the Lake was frozen over. Jackie shrugged. Felt cold as Hell to her. Tony and Armando were supposed to be here by now. Where were they? Jackie pointed at the ground, at plenty of footprints in the snow. Small animal tracks, but definitely a few people. 

Huh. “Jake, you said Tony and Army were supposed to be here, who else?”

“Just those two. Remember, we split up after… y’know, gonna meet back here. Why?”

“I just… it seems like there’s more than just their tracks.”

“Probably have been going back and forth since they got here.” Cupping his hands to his mouth and yelling like he wasn’t a wanted man, Jake yelled out “Hey assholes! Hope you got the fire ready!”

There was no answer.

* * *

Tony and Army were here, definitely. She spotted Tony’s jacket—a guy in Jersey rooting for the Oakland Raiders was just odd--hanging up on a peg in the cabin that saw the most foot-traffic—also the least decrepit cabin in the whole camp. Their bags were strewn across the floor, neat stack of cash and some grass on a table in the center of the room, and still-warm coals of a fire were in the stone fireplace at one end of the cabin, but neither of them were there.

It was fine, Jake said. They were probably fucking around, looking for something to steal, like they weren’t getting a cut of the payday. Jackie bit her tongue when she looked at Tony’s jacket, shivering a little.

“Don’t worry, babe. When I was a kid we camped with the boy scouts in February. In _tents_.” Jake said, working a can open with his pocket knife. 

“For how long?” She asked unconsciously, holding her cupful of alcohol

“Two nights.” He shrugged, before repeating. “In _tents_. Cabin like this, with the fire going? We can last a little longer than that, I think. Not too long. But long enough.”

She nodded.

“Last that long.”

* * *

It was dark out when she asked Jake what she should’ve when they got there. Where was the bathroom? 

“Latrine’s far end of the camp, by the edge of the woods.”

‘Latrine’ was a fancy word for ‘outhouse’, apparently. A metal seat_, _a hole, and a tiny little cabin. She almost tripped over a snow-buried log on the way out, nearly froze to the fucking _metal _seat, did her business, and actually tripped over some root or something on her way back. Rolling over, she kicked it, only for her breath to catch in her throat.

It wasn’t a root or tree branch, not by a longshot. Hard as one, given it was frozen stiff, ashen gray now, but it ended in five fingers. On her hands and knees, she scrambled, digging out more and more, eventually falling backwards as the arm was not anchored to anything; roughly sliced off at the shoulder. Sitting on her ass in the snow, holding a severed arm, she found her voice again and screamed.

Jake was next to her in an instant, muttering a wear as he looked at the severed limb. She scrambled to her feet nearly slipping on an uneven patch of ground, looking down, and seeing a red, white, and blue sports Jersey. 

“Holy fuck.” Jake let out. They rushed back in the cabin, scooping handfuls of money into bags, swearing and yelling and rushing and tripping. 

While Jake was narrating, get back to the cars, get on the highway, get to New York or some shit, Jackie looked out the window and gasped. “Someone’s out there.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know!” She yelled. He was just standing there. In the shadow of the entrance sign to the camp. Her flashlight was shitty, and couldn’t really illuminate the man.

They debated for what felt like an eternity, before Jake grabbed the poker from the fireplace burst out of the cabin. Jackie followed at a distance as Jake stomped towards the man, picking up speed as he went. The poker connected, Jake almost losing his grip on the thing as he hit something solid. Frozen solid. 

Jackie had gotten closer enough to shine the light to see the look of surprise on Armando’s face, split in half by a machete and held together by ice. Jake was swearing.

And then he showed up.

He was a head taller than Jake, two heads taller than her. The machete to his guts knocked the wind out of Jake, as he was lifted up, eye level with the two black holes of an old, beaten hockey mask. Feet kicked uselessly for long moments, before stilling, and the whole mess was dumped unceremoniously into the snow.

She ran, thoughtlessly without direction; as best she could on the snow. He pushed through the deep snow without any effort. She eventually lost her footing again, as frozen soil underfoot yielded to a sheet of ice. She was on the lake.

She scrambled to her feet and ran to put some distance between her and the giant, as she heard his footfalls leave the snow and land on the ice.

His heavy footfalls.

Jake was right. Maybe it was surprisingly warm for the lake to have been frozen. Because he hadn’t crossed halfway to her when a boot went straight through the ice, the rest of his huge frame following. For a long moment she sat there, panting, before gingerly, delicately taking a step. Perpendicular to her original path.

She kept an eye on the hole, heart racing, trying to discern if the cracks were spreading. One foot ahead of the other. Step by step. Not too fast. Easy did it. She tried not to think of Jake, or Army, or Tony. One foot ahead of the other. She forced herself not to think about Jason Voorhees. She was fifty feet from shore. 

At twenty feet something punched _up _from the ice. A cold, iron grip of a rotting hand grabbed her ankle and touched. The cold hit her like a million knives against her skin for a split second as she kicked and thrashed trying to keep her head above water, a jolt that swiftly gave way to numbness. She was yanked again, feet reaching the bottom of the lake. She was wheeled around, numb hands failing to break the impossibly strong grip on her shoulders. She screamed, filling her mouth with ice water.

She struck, dead feeling in her hands unable to tell if she was even hitting him. The cold continued to creep in. And in the pits of the hockey mask, a single eye glared at her.

**Author's Note:**

> This was too brief, but I love the idea of a Friday the 13th in the Winter--there are a few slashers set in places during the season, but the idea of Jason stomping around a snowy camp is too fun.


End file.
